Clear Path

When a path reveals itself, what then?

How shall we move? At the moment of knowing

what needs be done, who will step forward?

In 1961, the Freedom Riders felt the call.

It was a pull of conscience, a tug of heart.

Black and white destinies intertwined,

riding to New Orleans to heal the scourge

of hate. They were weaponless, dressed in their

Sunday best. Chains and clubs awaited them

to beat the hope from their eyes.

It is the second wave of buses that I cannot forget,

the ones that continued the journey, knowing

what was done to those who went before.

They signed their will and testament;

they called their mothers. They folded

their clothes; said their prayers.

They had an extra piece of pie
before boarding. At this moment when

the path was clear, they did not hesitate.

And their eyes looked straight ahead.

© Nancy Hom 11-5-11